Pet Hates

Ice Cream Fling

It was the ice cream that led to the decision to have a fling.

I'd been thinking about it all week long. I knew it was going to happen Thursday night, so the Monday before I stopped on my way home to look at all the flavours. This way I'd be ready by the time Thursday came. A good idea I thought. I decided on popcorn, chocolate and black sesame.

I was feeling rather good on my way home that Thursday because a) I'd made a decision and b) I'd just eaten ice cream, so I popped into the pub to say hello to some friends.

Someone asked me "Are you going out?" (I was in such a good mood I didn't feel the need to point out that I was already out), but I said, "No, don't think I shall, I'm happy, just had some ice cream and going to head home". To which I was told quite frankly, "that's how you become a fat lonely old spinster..."

And that is when I made my mind up to have a fling.

If I had a fling, I'd prove I'm an adult and then I could continue eating ice cream without any fear of becoming a lonely old cat lady. I don't even like cats.

Which Toothbrush?

My toothbrush disappeared from the bathroom yesterday. I had no choice but to use one of my housemates' toothbrushes. Tricky thing was, how to decide which toothbrush to use? Should I have made the decision based on which housemate I like more? Or which toothbrush has perkier bristles?

You Are Not Alone

Default Wingman

We all had those friends in high school we brought home to show off to our parents.

Somehow, bringing home the choir-attending, French-speaking, math wizz, who just generally had the I-am-going-to-be-a-success-in-life look downpat, reassured our parents that their own child had a similar fate in store.

Even years after leaving school I've found default friends come in handy, say for a co-workers party or the bi-annual family gatherings. My current default Susan is 6ft tall, blue eyes, speaks Japanese and Mandarin, is well travelled and asks my parents questions such as "So what do you think of Xi Jinping, China's future leader?" If Susan is around, no one makes me feel guilty about my third serving of dessert, nor the fact that I don't have a real job, because I'm going to turn out "alright". Some of us even have more than one, incase the first choice has to stay back at the office for a difficult case, or is busy handing out soup at the local town hall.

I've had a handful of default friends I've brought home to my parents over the years. However (and don't think it's gone unnoticed) I've never found myself in the position of default friend. I just don't seem to make the cut. And it's not without trying: I cut my hair short (so to the untrained eye it is well cared for); I avoid words I cannot pronounce, such as phenomenon and hippopotamus; and I also avoid situations where I need to write something incase my inability to master cursive writing is ever discovered.

For years I've been silently disgruntled by my zero-ranked position. Recently however, I've noticed one of my single friends frequently inviting me out with her - she calls me her 'wingman'. And that was it -  suddenly all my traits that previously let me down, now make me the forerunner friend. My foibles make friends shine in front of their suitors.

I am the default wingman (or wingwoman if you will) and it feels great.

Things That Should Be Free

Shiny Hair

I read somewhere that raw egg is good for healthy hair. Adds shine. 

So I jumped into the shower and lathered two eggs through my hair. When I hopped out of the shower I noticed I had a whole lot of white stuff all through my hair.

I looked closer.

It was the egg.

I’d cooked egg in my hair. 

Hot English Breath

For lunch today I made a cucumber salad with lots of raw garlic. It was a great accompaniment to my dumplings. But it did leave me with quite strong garlic breath, so I googled how to cure quite strong garlic breath.

Amongst suggestions of "chew on parsley” and “drink tea”, I came across one which said “take a spoonful of mustard, swish it around your mouth, swallow and repeat”. It was apparently fullproof, and as I didn’t have any fresh parsley on hand I thought I’d give it a go. I found some hot English mustard in my fridge (the dijon was past the used-by date) and followed the directions precisely.

However now, not only is my mouth is on fire, I seem to still have garlic breath. I think I've been duped.

The Toilet Paper Fiasco

Okay, so I’ll be the first to admit I’m not great with little people (often referred to as children or kids). 

There is something about them that brings out the 5-year old in me. I get awkward when they stare at me, I don’t know where to look, so I just stare back. And I don’t like them getting their way all the time. And just because they’re small, I don’t think they have more of a right to lick the entire bowl, and spoon, after I’m the one who spent all the time cooking. With this in mind, I have no idea why I decided it would be a good idea to be a nanny for a little girl. Maybe I thought I would get to eat cake more often.

Perhaps this was my thought process for undertaking job.

The particularly unfortunate girl who I looked after (unfortunate because of my incapability as a child-carer, not because she had pigeon feet or didn’t know the difference between the colour orange and blue) had a ‘pants-wetting problem’. 

This here is unfortunate. 

One afternoon when I picked her up from school, she wet her pants before we reached a toilet. So I stuffed some toilet paper down her undies. I thought it would work a treat. But she started complaining about the toilet paper, saying it was irritating and she couldn’t walk with it. Between you and me, I thought this was a bit dramatic. So I said, FINE. I’ll get it out, we just need to find a corner to hide behind…  We were walking up a big hill and passed an enclosed courtyard, I noticed the gate was open and said this will do, so we went in.

As I put my hands down her pants to pull out the toilet paper I looked up (I thought it was too awkward and not professional, to look down her pants) and then I noticed - we were in the courtyard of a chapel, and God (in statue form) was looking down at me. This unsettled me, mainly because God in statue form does not blink. It was worse than a 5-year olds glare.

The Holy Glare

I started to get flustered and I couldn’t find the toilet paper. So in the end I had to peek down her pants and I eventually found it. Phew. 

Till this day I thank The Lord no one walked into the courtyard that afternoon. I would have had some explaining to do.

An apple a day

Every Other Time

Someone told me that I looked "fresh" today.

Self Portrait (6 October 2012 9:04am: "You look fresh today.")

Does that mean every other time they've seen me I've looked rather stale?

Self Portrait (every other time)

Sunny Cairns

I went to Cairns the other week.

I packed my apricot face exfoliator, a clay-conditioning face mask, ylang-ylang bath oil, lavender scented hand-cream and a bunch of bananas.

When I got to the airport, I was told:

But how could I fit my apricot face exfoliator, clay-conditioning face mask, ylang-ylang bath oil and lavender scented hand-cream into a bag with a sealed area adding up to no more than 80 centimeters?

Confused and angry I squeezed my face wash out into my hand and walked through the security gates with my hand clenched firmly.

Apparently I wasn't as stealth as I'd thought - the sticky clump of face wash in my hand was spotted. Luckily, as a customs officer loomed towards me, my grandma and her hip replacement* walked through the security gates and set off all the alarms. It was my only chance, so I made off into the duty-free perfumes. I'd find grandma later.

* A (fairly) Scientific diagram of Grandma's hip

But my troubles weren't over. When we finally got to Cairns we were greeted by garbage bins.

Sigh. I thought of my bananas.

So I read the fine print, which informed me if I failed to make a declaration of my bananas:

Well, I didn't want to be caught. When this happens, my face usually goes all hot and red, and yes, I have been known to cry. Also, I didn't want to be fined $220 on-the-spot cause I'm saving for a motorbike and if I went to jail for a bunch of bananas it would be pretty disappointing because I wouldn't be able to ride my motorbike for 10 years and by then perhaps I would have grown out of the desire to even have a motorbike!

But I wasn't about to throw my bananas into the bin. So I ate them, one by one.

And then I walked through customs and out into sunny Cairns with a sticky hand and a belly full of bananas and enjoyed my holiday. (Albeit without my clay-conditioning face mask, ylang-ylang bath oil and lavender scented hand-cream.)

Fin.

Timtams

A Curly Disguise.

I was reluctant to walk down King street last night as I was heading to Gould's. You see, it's a musty second-hand bookshop that I feel perhaps is not somewhere to be seen on a Friday night. Conveniently I found myself in tow of a lady and her huge head of curly red hair. So I walked very closely behind her for the most part of King. Who needs a moustache and hat?

What does one wear when...?

Now tell me, what does one wear when going to see an old lover for the first time since the break-up?

A bear suit*?
- No. You'll probably overheat in the fur with all the emotional stress.

A skirt? Show a bit of leg?
- No. This translates as: "Look at me I'm fine, I don't need you, got my legs out, well actually I don't usually wear a skirt, but you know that don't you, I just wanted you to see what you're missing out on. Oh! - forgot to shave my legs..."

What about a hat? Perhaps something funny to break the ice, like a flamingo?
- No.

Okay Okay. Guess I'll just wear my comfy coffee-stained jeans, connies and the grey t-shirt that's fallen down the back of my bed.

(*Please note: I dressed up in Jon Klassen's bear. Neither the bear nor I were harmed for this little stunt.)

I really wanted a bacon butty this morning.

When I got to the supermarché to buy my bacon, they only had the round bit (not the streaky part aswell). My morning was turned upside down. I ran out the shop and down the street, I passed my hairdresser boxing in his trackpants, but I kept running, I stopped outside the courty to catch my breath where I stared down at the pavement for some minutes. After said minutes, I pulled myself together. I went to blackstar and grabbed an espresso one sugar and a takeaway brisket pie two sauces, which I ate in the sun on the brick wall out the front of my house.

Frypan